


Mr. Blue Sky

by beemblebummed



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, its sad, ratchet is super sad and he starts overworking and neglectng himself, wheeljacks the only one w balls to step in and tell him he needs to stop apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 05:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13629579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beemblebummed/pseuds/beemblebummed
Summary: Ratchet's self neglect and self destruction needs to stop, so Wheeljack steps in with a firm hand and a good way to get some sense into the medic.





	Mr. Blue Sky

**Author's Note:**

> squicks/triggers  
> -death is spoken of, and reflected on a lot  
> -ratchet is wearing himself down at a depression/ptsd level but it's only elaborated on enough to paint the picture  
> -i think that's it feel free to clue me in otherwise

No one could have been happier that Cybertron was finally healed, finally able to be called home again. Sure, little things like Predaking, Starscream and Shockwave’s presences were something that made Cybertron’s saviors wary, but it wasn’t an immediate problem. They had Optimus, they had the team and everyone was all right. Repairs were going smoothly and it was all right.

But Unicron revived Megatron, and the search for the AllSpark was something to be done. Shockwave created more Predacons, and they were hostile. And, to top it off, Optimus Prime’s spark had become one with the AllSpark. To this, Ratchet was in denial.

He drowned himself in his work, he forced himself to go on for an endless amount of time. No one knew what to do; their medic was in need of some sort of help, and trying to convince him to stop wasn’t something that was working. Constant worry for the old medic kept everyone nearly distracted, always trying to put something together to say to him, and maybe stop him from killing himself.

Wheeljack was the last one to openly admit that he was scared to death for Ratchet. He didn’t pretend it wasn’t a problem; that would be stupid. But he didn’t want anyone to know that he soon stopped sleeping, that he sat up every night and thought about Ratchet, that he was on edge and scared, legitimately scared for his friend.

Finally, the stress was too much. In the middle of the night, he left his berth to bridge back to Earth. When he came through on the other side, Ratchet gave him a passing glance, and it was in that simple, brief look that the pain, exhaustion, and guilt was as obvious as daylight. Before Ratchet could even go back to his computer screens, back to his work, Wheeljack said the medic’s name loudly, briskly moving over to stand behind him.

“All right, doc, we have to talk,” he said firmly.

“I’m busy, Wheeljack,” Ratchet muttered.

In one swift action, Wheeljack’s hand seized the stubborn medic’s shoulder and spun him completely around. The Wrecker then fastened one hand to each of Ratchet’s shoulders, shaking him roughly as he shouted, “You’re always busy, Ratchet! You haven’t rested in Primus knows how long, and you’re getting worse and worse the longer you drag yourself on!”

Ratchet attempted to smack the other mech away, but he was unsuccessful, yelling back, “You don’t have a clue about what’s going on, you piece of junkyard scrap!”

“I know exactly what’s going on, Ratchet!” the Wrecker roared, shaking the medic again. “You think it’s your fault, you think you could have done something differently! You don’t want to believe it happened, so you put your mind somewhere else! Well, guess what, you fraggin’ idiot, I know!”

The orange-and-white mech was quiet, his optics widened as he looked on in somewhat shock. Wheejack just shook his head and then took a deep breath. “I had spoken to Seaspray not ten minutes before I watched his ship blown into shrapnel,” he continued, his voice softer, weaker. “We had talked about Bulkhead. I told him that I knew where he was, and that lots of other Autobots were with him. I heard his laugh only a few minutes before he died. Now don’t you dare—don’t you fragging dare— tell me that I don’t understand.”

There was a long silence between them. Their eyes were locked for what seemed like an eternity and then, wordlessly, Ratchet shook his head and sobbed once. He hung his head and slowly leaned it against Wheeljack’s chest. The Wrecker sighed, moving his hands from Ratchet’s shoulders to his back, giving the medic an awkward but gentle pat.

“You just gotta accept it,” he said. “It hurts. It hurts a lot. But… it’s either that, or you slowly die from the inside out. If you keep it bottled up, it’s worse…. Ya hear me?”

Silently, Ratchet nodded.

“All right, how about you get some rest, doc?” Wheeljack suggested after a while. “I think it’ll be good for all of us. We’ve been really worried, you know?”

The medic shrugged a little. “I suppose,” he mumbled. “But… just… stand here. For a little while longer.”

Wheeljack was puzzled at first, but then he snorted quietly. “Yeah, doc. Yeah, okay.”


End file.
